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  “And even once you are able to move about in what, hopefully, will be the near future, complete healing for your legs will still be a good ways off. So please take your time. Rest up. And no crutches. I brought those for the other men.” The doctor’s sternness eased a mite. “From our previous conversations, I know you enjoy reading. Colonel McGavock has an extensive library that I’m certain he’d be more than willing to share with you. Because if you end up in a Federal prison too soon, you won’t get the care you require. And I guarantee you, a Federal doctor won’t think twice about either cutting off that leg or letting it go to gangrene.”

  Laughter erupted behind them, and they turned to see Second Lieutenant Shuler playing “war” with Winder, who had proudly displayed to the room a box of painted toy soldiers he’d received the previous Christmas.

  Phillips looked back. “As we’ve discussed, Captain, gangrene at this stage would be most grave indeed.”

  Roland nodded. “I understand, Doc. And I give you my word, I’ll do as you say. Hard as that will be.”

  Phillips returned his stethoscope to his satchel. “I will say, though, the skin is healing very nicely. It’s farther along than I would’ve expected after such deep wounds.”

  “That’s thanks to George, my manservant, and Tempy. They’ve been faithful in applying warm poultices.”

  Lizzie entered the bedroom carrying a tray laden with food, her footsteps more pronounced on the bare wooden floor, and Roland tugged the blanket back over his legs. Despite the healing taking place, he wanted to spare her the bright red scars. Or maybe it was that he wished not to appear so much of an invalid in her eyes.

  Dr. Phillips glanced in Lizzie’s direction and smiled. “For what it’s worth, Captain, I can think of worse places to be than here at Carnton. And for sure, worse company.”

  Having no trouble reading the man’s thoughts now, Roland started to respond when Lizzie turned in their direction.

  “Here you are, Captain Jones. Lunch today is ham and lentil soup, and angel biscuits.”

  She bent down and handed him a bowl and a cloth napkin containing the bread. Her gaze barely brushed his before she looked at the doctor. Roland didn’t like the stiff politeness that had developed between them, but he figured it was for the best. She was betrothed to another man, after all. Still, he missed her company and her smile. And their conversations.

  The other day, when he’d awakened from a nap to find her standing there, he’d glimpsed a softness in her eyes that had given him hope. Hope for what, he couldn’t say. But as quickly as it had come, the softness vanished and she’d left.

  “Dr. Phillips,” she continued, “I’d be happy to bring you some lunch too, if you have the time.”

  “Thank you, but I’ve already eaten. Tempy insisted on feeding me as soon as I arrived. I need to finish up my rounds here, then move on into town. Everyone in Franklin opened up their homes to the wounded. Same for the churches and the businesses. We need to see all of those soldiers before we rejoin Loring’s Division. Or what remains of it,” he added quietly.

  “What’s the final count after the battle here?” Roland asked.

  “Loring’s had thirty-five hundred men, as you know. And we left nearly a thousand of them buried on the battlefield.”

  Roland bowed his head. So many.

  “Has the Army of Tennessee advanced on Nashville yet?”

  Roland heard the concern in Lizzie’s voice and thought of her young Lieutenant Townsend. A fine man, by all counts, and one thoroughly besotted with her. Which he certainly couldn’t fault him for.

  “No, Miss Clouston, but word is they will any day now. Hood’s made no secret of his wish to even the score. Which, to that end . . .” Phillips picked up his satchel. “I need to be on my way. Captain Jones, I’ll see you again in two weeks, if not before then. Miss Clouston, a pleasure as always, ma’am.”

  Roland set the bowl and napkin on the floor beside him, wishing the doctor would have lingered a little longer. He read determination in Lizzie’s expression and sensed what was coming. The other soldiers staying in that bedroom had begun to hobble about on crutches in recent days and were out in the hallway. Only Shuler and Winder remained in the room, which meant he and Lizzie were effectively alone. Something he would’ve welcomed earlier on. But not at the moment.

  “Roland . . .” Her gaze met his, then flashed away again. “I want to tell you how sorry I am that I wasn’t more forthcoming about being betrothed to Lieutenant Townsend. I feel as though I owe you an apology and—”

  “There’s no need for you to apologize, Lizzie. You did nothing wrong.” What could he say to allay her guilt without revealing more than he wanted to? Or than was proper, under the circumstances? “Any misunderstanding about our friendship was solely on my part. And I truly wish you and Lieutenant Townsend only the very best. He’s a most fortunate man.”

  Empty tray in hand, she stared at him for several seconds, as if caught off balance, then she finally nodded. “Thank you. For being so understanding.”

  “It’s no problem. And thank you for lunch.” He pointed to the bowl.

  With what looked to be a pieced-together smile, she turned to leave, and relief filtered through him that this particular hurdle was behind them. It hadn’t been as bad as he’d anticipated. Hungry, he unwrapped the napkin and popped the entire angel biscuit into his mouth. Delicious . . .

  “Roland.” She turned back unexpectedly. “You’re so kind to say there’s no need for an apology, but I disagree.”

  Dangerously close to choking, Roland looked around for something to drink. But all he had was the soup, and taking a swig of that in front of her right now just seemed rude. Besides, she’d already positioned Winder’s little chair beside him and taken a seat.

  She took a deep breath. “Frankly, I won’t be able to move past this if I don’t tell you why I wasn’t more forthcoming. In fact, the reason is actually a tad humorous.” Her laughter came off a bit flat.

  Roland managed to swallow the bread. He should have known that a woman so bent on keeping her word wouldn’t be put off so easily. Which only increased his admiration of her. Not her intent, he knew.

  “Lieutenant Townsend—Towny, everyone calls him—has been my dearest friend for as far back as I can remember. He and I grew up together.”

  She looked at him wide-eyed, and Roland sensed she needed some encouragement to continue. So, somewhat begrudgingly, he nodded.

  CHAPTER 24

  Lizzie chose her words carefully, wanting to offer an explanation that made sense and was truthful. She’d learned as a child that if you always told the truth, you never had to remember the web of lies and half-truths you’d spun. But sometimes, as she’d learned since becoming an adult, it was best to share only a portion of the truth. Like now. Because to share the whole truth would only deepen the hole she’d dug for herself.

  Now if only she could remember the thoughts she’d laid out on paper earlier that morning—which wasn’t easy considering how closely Roland was watching her.

  She sat up a little straighter, determined to get this done quickly and to look at him as little as possible. Those smoky gray eyes would only make this more difficult. He’d said no explanation was needed, but of course a man of such integrity would want to know. She couldn’t very well blurt out, The reason I didn’t say anything to you about being betrothed is because I feel a closeness to you I can’t explain, and I’m attracted to you in a way that no promised woman should be—except to the man she’s going to marry.

  But since she couldn’t say that . . .

  “Towny asked me to marry him in January, before he left to rejoin his regiment. He’d been home for a couple of days, and we’d spent time together at his father’s house. His mother passed several years ago. Marlene was such a lovely woman.” Speaking faster than she needed to, she smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from her sleeve. “She and I used to cook together on Sunday afternoons. She made the most delicious corn chowder.
But I’m close to Towny’s father, John, as well. Mr. Townsend is a very fine man, and Towny is just like him.”

  She was rambling. This wasn’t the speech she’d written down, edited, rehearsed, and edited again. And now she’d completely forgotten her line of thought. She sneaked a look at Roland, who seemed to be watching her even more closely than before.

  Warmth rose to her face. “I’m sorry, I forgot where I was . . .”

  “Lieutenant Townsend’s father is a fine man, and Towny is just like him.”

  “Ah, yes. Thank you.” She brushed back a bothersome curl. “What I’m trying to say is that Towny and I have been betrothed for a while now.”

  “Since January,” Roland offered, his voice quiet.

  “That’s right. And I think what the problem is . . . is that it’s still all so new to me. Being betrothed.” She forced a smile. “I believe I’m still growing accustomed to the idea.”

  “Growing accustomed to it?” he repeated softly.

  She chanced a look back and found his eyes slightly narrowed.

  “Yes, that’s right.” She averted her gaze again, realizing how the words sounded. “No, I-I don’t mean to say that—” What did she mean to say? Don’t look at his eyes. Don’t look at his eyes. “It’s not my intention to reflect negatively on Towny in any way. I would never do that.”

  “No, you wouldn’t.”

  “So what I’m attempting to say—although I’m doing a very poor job of it—is that it’s the idea of being betrothed that’s still new.”

  “That’s taking you some adjustment.”

  She exhaled. “Precisely.”

  Relieved to have that out and done with, she intentionally loosened her white-knuckled grip on the tray in her lap. The silence lengthened, and she finally looked back at him, surprised to see such warmth and understanding in his gaze, as well as a smile tipping one side of his mouth. Which only made hers go dry. She licked her lips.

  “I understand, Lizzie,” he whispered, holding her gaze. “And I believe Lieutenant Townsend is a most fortunate man.”

  Emotion rose to her eyes. If anyone else was in the room, she wasn’t aware of them. She saw only Roland. And felt only desire for him. An invisible cord seemed to draw her closer, and she knew she needed to leave. She rose, tray in hand.

  “Thank you, Roland. For being so understanding.” She offered a smile, then rushed from the room.

  She descended the staircase and heard the nuns chatting in the family parlor, so she ducked into the dining room, grateful to find it empty. She closed the door behind her, heart racing, and let the tears come. How was it that now, after she’d said yes to Towny—after waiting for so many years, especially compared to all of her friends who’d been married for nearly a decade now—a man would come into her life who made her feel things she’d never felt before? Things she should feel for Towny. But didn’t.

  She inhaled, then slowly let out her breath. She wiped away the tears. Feelings, in themselves, couldn’t be trusted. She knew that. The heart was a deceitful thing, the Bible said. Marriage, on the other hand, was a lifelong commitment based on mutual love and trust. And love could have many faces. And she did love Towny. And prayed she would grow to love him more and more over time.

  She straightened. She’d met Roland Jones under the most extreme of circumstances. That’s what had to be coloring her emotions right now. The past few days had been trying, and that was putting it mildly. She simply needed to rest, to get back into the routine of life. She’d already begun conducting morning sessions with the children again, and would soon move to the afternoon as well. And she and Tempy were set to have their first session soon. She loved teaching. Hence the reason she’d become a governess.

  That, and because she’d never met a man she’d truly wanted to marry. Until now.

  THE NEXT MORNING Lizzie awakened early, feeling a spark of excitement she hadn’t felt in ages. She dressed and checked the time on her chatelaine watch as she pinned it to her shirtwaist. She gathered the books she’d laid out last night and smiled as she hurried past Tempy’s closed bedroom door, thinking about how she was going to scold her newest student for being late to class on their first morning.

  But halfway down the stairs the smell of coffee told her she was the one who needed the scolding. She stepped into the kitchen to find Tempy sitting at the table, cups of coffee poured and both of their breakfasts plated and ready.

  Lizzie claimed her seat and placed the books on the table. “What time did you get up?”

  “Get up?” Tempy shook her head. “I’s barely able to get to sleep for thinkin’ of what we gonna be doin’ this mornin’.” She blew out a breath. “I done thought of somethin’ too. Look’a here.” She scooted a crate out from under the table. “If we hear a squeak on them stairs, we toss all of that teachin’ stuff of yours into here and shove it under the table.”

  Lizzie was tempted to smile, but the seriousness in Tempy’s expression kept her from it. The woman truly was frightened of what might happen if someone caught them. Perhaps she should be more frightened than she was. But at the moment all she felt was the thrill of anticipation.

  In between bites, Lizzie turned the pages of the primer and explained how she would conduct their lessons. Tempy nodded, her gaze never leaving the lesson book, her breakfast untouched.

  “So the first thing we’ll do”—Lizzie sipped her coffee—“is learn the letters of the alphabet and which sound—or sounds in some cases—go with each.” She opened to the page with the letters, and Tempy leaned forward. “These are the letters in uppercase, meaning the capital or big letters. Letters that are used for the beginning of sentences or people’s names or places like Franklin, Tennessee. And these are each of the corresponding letters in lowercase, or small letters.”

  Tempy frowned.

  “Think of the big letters as wearing a fancy coat.” Lizzie pointed to the capital letter T and tugged on the collar of her shirtwaist, as though she were adjusting the collar of a fancy cloak. And this”—she pointed to the lowercase letter t—“is the very same letter, only with the fancy coat taken off.”

  Tempy didn’t say anything for a moment. “So . . . it’s like them two letters is the same person, only with a different coverin’. Same smile, same good and bad about ’em.”

  “Yes! Precisely. And they share the very same sound. And this letter here”—Lizzie tapped the capital T again, then pulled the slate and chalk closer—“is the first letter of your name. T-e-m-p-y,” she said, writing each letter as she sounded it out.

  Tempy leaned close. “That’s my name, Miss Clouston?”

  Lizzie nodded. “But please, call me Lizzie. At least when we’re alone.”

  “I like the looks of my name . . . Miss Lizzie.”

  Tempy laughed, and Lizzie shook her head at the woman’s obstinance.

  “All right, next, let’s go letter by letter and I’ll—”

  “Good mornin’ to you both.”

  Lizzie nearly jumped out of her skin, and Tempy began grabbing the books and shoving them into the crate. Lizzie turned to see George looking from them to the books and then back again.

  Lizzie rose, feeling a little queasy. “Good morning, George. We . . . didn’t hear you come in.”

  He nodded slowly. “I can see that, ma’am.”

  The excitement she’d felt moments earlier was gone, replaced by a sourness in the pit of her stomach. Would George tell Roland? If he did, would Roland feel obligated to tell Colonel McGavock?

  George looked pointedly at Tempy. “What you doin’ in here, Miss Tempy?”

  Tempy stood. “You can see with them eyes o’ yours what I’m doin’.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I can. But can you see how full of danger this is?”

  Lizzie stepped forward. “George, I take full—”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Lizzie.” George shook his head. “From all the cap’n says about you, you’re a fine woman. But you ought not be doin’ this, ma’am. I reckon y
ou see it as a kindness. But Miss Tempy here would be in a world o’ hurt right now if it was someone else walked through that door instead of me. So I’ll thank you kindly to—”

  “You listen to me right now!” Tempy whispered in a harsh tone, walking straight up to him. She barely reached his chest. “You ain’t gonna tell me or Miss Clouston what we gonna be doin’. You a young fella, George. You got time for the world to change. I ain’t got no time.” Her voice caught. She looked up at him and stretched to her full height, which still seemed petite next to George. “You ever heard of a place called Pal-es-tine?”

  George stared at her. Then gave a little shake of his head.

  “That’s where the Lord hisself was birthed. That’s where he walked and where he lived while he’s down here. And I ain’t never gonna see that place with my own eyes.” She took a shuddering breath. “But I aim to read about it from people who been there. I been wantin’ to know things far back as my memories can take me. And my mama, God rest her, told me the same thing you just did. Tempy, you gotta stop askin’ them questions, girl, she’d say. You know we can’t have no book learnin’. But, George . . . the world is changin’, son. Right here. Today. In front of our eyes.”

  Lizzie’s heart squeezed tight. With emotion, with pride. Then she heard it. A creak coming from overhead. Tempy must have heard it too, because she quickly turned to the worktable and started cracking more eggs into the bowl. Lizzie grabbed the books and slate from the crate and placed them where she usually did on the table by the stairs leading to the main house. Then she turned to George.

  “Are you going to say anything to Captain Jones?” she whispered.

  George looked from her to Tempy and back again. “He wouldn’t like what you’re doin’, ma’am. If that matters to you any.”

  “It does,” she acknowledged. “It matters a great deal.” She searched his gaze. “But not as much as teaching Tempy does.”

  He shifted his weight, clearly not pleased. Then he sighed. “I won’t tell him, ma’am. But only if you do one thing.”